"I'll take it in to Mother," volunteered she, holding out her hand.
"It isn't for Mother," Carl answered slowly.
"Not for Mother? How funny! None of the rest of us ever have letters. Who is it for?"
"It happens to be mine."
"Carl!" Dismay and apprehension vibrated in the word.
"Yes, it's mine," her brother repeated. His obvious attempt to carry off the episode in jaunty fashion failed, however, and it was evident by his tense tones that he echoed Mary's alarm.
"But who on earth can be writing to you?" demanded his sister.
"I—I—don't know." The boy fingered the envelope with uneasiness. Mary came nearer.
"Carl, what have you been up to now?" asked she. "That looks like the teacher's writing. Aren't you going to be promoted or what is the matter?"
"How do I know until I read the thing?" snapped Carl.